Monday, January 30, 2017

Earlier today I was having a conversation with a woman who I had just met. We share multiple mutual acquaintances and we were talking about the race (see previous post).

She said I was brave.

I have to say I was stunned. And not just for a moment, but for awhile. All semblance of thought had left me. I had no words. And my eyes teared up.

In all of this, in all of this crap and awfulness that we've gone through, that word had never entered my mind. I never thought of myself as brave. For the most part I think I'm just lucky to get through each day without having some sort of...well, something. There was a time where I was lucky to just get out of bed-and let me tell you, that took some pushing. There was a time when I didn't want to do anything except lay on the couch and stare; yeah, the TV was usually on, but nothing registered. There was a time when I would have given ANYTHING to not give myself one more stupid shot because I was so bruised up and no matter how much you ice your skin those big needles still hurt like a mother. There was a time when I was not myself. When I hated myself. When I did not think that I deserved any good or any niceness. There was a time.

And there are still times like that.

But being brave? No, there was never a time like that.

Except. Except...

Do you know how much courage it takes to jab a needle into your stomach? I do.

And then-to do that once, twice a day? I do.

Do you know how much courage it takes to go to the store to get tampons because you couldn't even finish your two week wait before your period came? I do.

Do you know how much courage it takes to talk to your friends, your friends who don't know, ask them about their children and watch these beautiful children, who you love, grow up? I do.

Do you know how much courage it takes to not cry uncontrollably when a very well-meaning person asks tells you you'll make a wonderful mother some day and then asks when that will be? I do.

Do you know how much courage it takes to hold your friend's newborn, three days before your first fertility appointment? I do.

I know so many amazing and wonderful and BRAVE women who have all done this, and more. And yes, they're brave. These women-WE-have so many reasons to just shut the door on life and crawl into bed and stare. But we don't. We do the hard things. We do the painful things. We smile and keep on going. Because we're brave.

And I did not realize that until I had a conversation with a woman I barely knew.

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Two days before Christmas, Trey and I received an email. It was in response to this amazing opportunity we had applied for back in November.

It was a difficult application. A lot of it was the usual demographic information. I had to get a letter from my fertility doctor, which was a little more difficult than I planned; there was some miscommunication in the office and then I don't think I explained what I needed from him very well. And then, the hardest part: explain our story to a handful of strangers. Trey seemed to make it very easy; throughout this whole process he has been very light-hearted, very hopeful and optimistic; it's usually the reverse in our relationship.

But how to explain everything to these people who didn't know me? Who may not understand that I try and hide my pain so that I don't inconvenience anyone, including my husband? How do I explain that I often use sarcasm to mask the words that I really want to say?

The answer: Just put everything out on the line. Put your heartache, your pain, your feelings out in the open, for everyone.

And that's exactly what we did.

The opportunity is called The Race to Parenthood 5K, which is the main event of the non-profit The Road to Parenthood. This is a non-profit organization that helps couples going through infertility treatments fund their pathways to parenthood. 100% of the donations and race proceeds go to five Featured Couples.

And we were chosen. We were chosen as a 2017 Race to Parenthood Featured Couple.

And I cried, which shouldn't really be surprising at this point, but this time it was a happy cry. It was a relief cry, it was a hopeful cry. Because after all the failures, all of the disappointments, we had hope. We were given hope. And that was such a wonderful Christmas present.

Immediately, all of the past Featured Couples and race organizers welcomed us "to the race family." And that phrase really struck me.

We are a family. True, we're not related by blood; but we are related by experience. A life-changing experience. The people in this family already know us, because they've been where we've been, they've had the same ups and downs. And while several of them have their little miracles, that doesn't take away from the fact that they had to go down the same road we're on right now. And that makes us a family.

The Featured Couples are divided into teams based on colors (green, red, yellow, orange and purple). We were chosen for Team Green and we met our awesome mentors, who were 2016's Featured Couple. They have been so nice and so wonderful; they have opened their arms to us and we actually haven't officially met yet!

I am so excited about what's to come in the next several months as we plan our 2017 race. I am so excited to meet the other 2017 Featured Couples and know that we are going to be lifelong friends; that our kids will be friends for the rest of their lives because of what their parents went through.

I have been thinking about My Monster lately, though. There has been so much good stuff happening to us lately, that I almost feel back to my normal self. Of course, she is still there. She will always be there, though hopefully she'll be dormant for a good long while. My Monster will never go away; she is forever a part of me. You can't erase her just like you can't erase our experiences, our troubles, our bumps and obstacles. Infertility is a life-changing experience; at the end of the road, whatever we decide our end to be, we will be different. Hopefully stronger different, but different. No matter how much I want to, I will never be the Lara of 2012 or 2013 or even 2014 when our journey began. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Our journey is not a bad thing; we have met the most amazing people, we have become stronger as a couple, I've learned a whole lotta medical stuff and I know how to inject myself (which could come in handy, you never know), and in the end we'll be able to live and love the choices we've made.

As I said during art therapy: I only want to be proud of myself when all this is over. I want to look back, no matter the outcome, and know that I have no regrets, that I made decisions for me and not because of someone else, and that I did the best I could. And that's all anyone can ask of us, really.

SO. I hope you all will follow along on Facebook or here on the blog for all of our updates on the race and on our journey. Once the race planning gets into gear I'll post "newsletters" on our blog so that those who are interested have the information.

Monday, January 2, 2017

It's Christmas again. I feel like it was just Christmas. My parents warned me about this phenomenon of time speeding up as you get older. Like most other things they told me that I didn't believe, they were right. It has been a rough year. For most of it, my life has been doctor's appointments, shots, blood work, more shots. And waiting. And then more shots. And losing our spontaneity and freedom to come and go as we please.

Our last hormone cycle failed. I didn't even make it to "test day." Which, in retrospect, not having to look at another negative pregnancy test was nice. Nice probably isn't the right word but you know what I mean.

A lot of things have changed over the past year. I am no longer the same person. My perspective has changed; the way I interact with the world has changed. Even my marriage has changed.

A year ago, I was still under the care of my OB/GYN and we were in the middle of doing Clomid cycles. I was so naive. I didn't think of myself as "infertile." That was a four-letter word to me. "I'll just take some pills and 9 months later we'll have a baby. It'll be easy!" Never did I think that I would give myself shots every day for weeks at a time. Never did I think that I would become so used to reading vaginal ultrasounds that I would get excited about seeing follicles before my doctor would even point them out.

Never did I think I would be someone who would actually look forward to giving myself shots because at least that meant I was DOING SOMETHING.

The two weeks waits were the worst. Sit around and wait. Or, my new most hated phrase "Wait and See." If you want to torture me don't even consider water-boarding, just make me sit at home for two weeks and whisper "Wait and see" in my ear every hour or so. That's torture.

I have turned into a bitter, glass half empty person. I no longer get excited when my doctor mentions success rates, high egg counts, good uterine lining. I am anxious all the time because I want to go ahead and move on to the next thing. I have become a walking, talking infertility-hormonal-pin-cushion-science-experiment.

And then the WORST thing. The thing that I think and I wonder "WHERE did that come from?!"

The thought of, "What if I stop wanting children?" "What if I HAVE stopped wanting children?" and then I mentally hit myself over the head with a 2 X 4 because that's not true. And I hate myself for even allowing that thought to enter my brain. Of course I want to be a mom. It's the only thing that keeps me going, this unreasonable, buried deep inside hope, that one day I will be a mother. And then I stop crying, pull myself out of my hole, and ask "What's the next step?"

So, what is our next step? For us, it's IVF. We decided not to try IUI; it doesn't increase our chances and we'd rather spend our time and money on a procedure that gives us at least a 50% chance of becoming pregnant. I am young, I am healthy, if a tad (or more) overweight, and chances are good.

We're taking a break over the holidays, because they're stressful enough, and will resume everything after the new year.

Maybe a break will be good. Maybe it will allow me to have a little optimism again. Maybe it will bring me back to myself.

Writer's note: This post was written several days before Christmas. In an attempt to lift my/our spirits we decided not to publish it until after the holidays. It's 2017 now and while we still face the emotions and challenges that come with being a couple struggling with fertility, we feel a renewed hope for this coming year. Good things (more on that later) to come!!! To everyone who has been so supportive, so loving and so caring: we appreciate you more than you'll ever know. Happy New Year!